


Snapshots of the Rose and the Wolf

by Calascent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hot Springs, Part of a much larger AU, Robbaery Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calascent/pseuds/Calascent
Summary: Drabbles for Robbaery week 2k19All of these take place in an AU where the Tyrells join the Starks instead of the Lannisters during the War of the Five KingsCh1; Hot SpringsCh2; Sparring





	1. Hot Springs

With the ending of Summer and the approach of Fall, the Riverlands were plagued with cold winds and unending rain. Margaery Tyrell wished for the sun of the Reach as she rode through the drizzle. 

It had been six months since she had ridden north with Garlan and a host of five and ten thousand to support Robb Stark in his campaign through the ravaged Riverlands. Two months after, he had been crowned King of the North and the Trident, and Margaery had become a traitor of the crown. Then two moon turn ago, Stannis found his host crushed against the walls of King’s Landing by Tywin Lannister. That was when Mace Tyrell had finally relented and declared for Robb, making him the King of the North, the Trident, and the Reach. 

Margaery and Garlan were the leaders of the Reach force, and she took pride in riding at the head of their column, clad in riding leathers that Dacey Mormont had gifted her, and a cloak of deep green, trimmed in grey fur, a gift from her grandmother, no doubt to catch the King’s eye. When her grandmother, the infamous Queen of Thornes, had sent the present, she had included a note. The Rose of Highgarden had ridden north with noble intentions. However she would ride south as a Queen. 

But, despite her whole life grooming her to a position of influence, Margaery had no designs on the King. True, Robb Stark was handsome, with his auburn curls and powerful build, but his eyes held only ice. His words to her were kind enough, but stiff; there was no warmth in those blue eyes. Besides, Margaery had left her heart behind in Highgarden, with her dear brothers Loras and Willas, and her grandmother who taught her all she knew. She was loath to imagine seducing the Winter King, when there was a war to win and a family to return to. 

It was currently drizzling, a respite to the constant downpour that had accompanied them as they traveled back to Riverrun from the campaigns in the West. They had spent almost three weeks at Golden Tooth, waiting for the host Mace Tyrell had sent. With Robb having led a successful assault to Ashemark and the Crag, he had decided to focus his attention towards King’s Landing, leaving the Western campaign in the hands of Lord Karstark and Randyll Tarly. 

Margaery pulled her cloak tighter as a particularly strong gust of wind pulled at her long braid, chilling her through the wool and leather. Garlan grinned at her, and surely had a jape for her, but his attention was caught by a pair of riders approaching them. Despite their distance, Margaery did not have to guess at their identity, for the massive dire wolf that preceded them was tell enough. She bowed in her saddle as the King stopped before them. Laityn Rivers, Robb’s companion, recently knighted the Knight of the Coast for saving this King’s life, shifted uncomfortably in his own saddle at the nod of respect Garlan sent him. 

“Your Grace, is something amiss?” Margaery asked, all courtesy, hoping he just wished for a report of their forces before taking his leave. 

“No my lady, everything is quite alright. I had hoped to travel with you and Ser Garlan for a bit.” Margaery gave him a quizzical look. Not having to keep a constant face of placidity was by far her favorite part of being with the Northern host. “I am embarrassed to admit that I know very little of our southern allies. Something I wish to remedy.” 

Garlan responded before Margaery could. 

“You are most welcome to join us, your Grace.” With barely a nod in agreement from her, Robb slotted his horse beside Margaery’s. Laityn took up beside Garlan, no doubt wanting to discuss with him his recent knighthood, and the four of them continued their ride. 

“My lady, months ago, I was so quick to accept you and your men into my own ranks, that I fear I did not ask into you intentions.” The King said after a moment. A tinge of pink colored his cheeks above his well trimmed beard. 

Margaery let her answer roll over her tongue, wondering if she should speak the truth or the flowery response she had practiced. Northmen valued honesty and honor above all. 

“From the day I was born my life was not mine to decide on or control. When we heard of the atrocities committed against your family in King’s Landing, my family was outraged. However my father refused to act, something I could not abide. It was then I decided I would no longer let others choose my path in life. It was with the help of my brothers and grandmother that I was able to muster the host I did. The plan was to assist you in saving your sisters from the Lannisters—” 

“But then I was crowned King.” He interrupted, a tender look on his face that Margaery could not identify. 

“A man crowned King by his own people, against his own wishes. The singers of the Reach will have inspiration for decades to come.”

“By all rights you could have left then. You could have saved yourself and your men from becoming traitors.” 

“My family may be known for our ambition, your Grace, but we are no turncloaks. Men of the Reach are also known for their honor.” 

“Robb.” He said suddenly. “Please call me Robb, I do so hate the formalities.” 

“The crown of a King should never sit easy. But if you insist.” She smiled, finding she liked when he was relaxed and informal. “You must call me Margaery then. The Northern disposition towards plain speech agrees with me.” 

“Margaery.” He practically drawled. She liked how he said her name like that. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Now it was her turn to flush pink. 

They fell into a brief silence before another strong wind sent Margaery shivering. 

“Right now the North should be having the first snows of the season. Certainly a change from the warmth of the Reach.” Robb said with a curl of a smile. ”Let us hope the roses can withstand a bit of frost.” 

“You’ll find we are quite resilient. Besides, I hear that Winterfell is also known for their roses. Blue winter roses.”

“Blue as the sky on a clear day, yes. But there is a secret to their success.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. 

“Oh?” She leaned in as well. 

“You see, Winterfell is built atop a network of hot springs. We are able to grow many flowers in the glass gardens because of the warmth. The waters also keep the castle warm, even during the strongest of blizzards.” 

“That is a very damning secret. If the southerners knew, you Starks would lose all of your reputation. Imagine the outrage when the cold as ice Starks are found to be lovers of flowers and hot water.” She left out a chuckle. “You know there is a rumor in the Reach that Starks only bath in snowmelt.” 

Robb feigned shock. “My dear lady Margaery, I am appalled. To think that you engage in such gossip.” They both laughed. “In actuality, it is not uncommon to find children playing in the Godswood in the hot pools. The gods know my mother was wroth when she found myself and my siblings in them instead of at our lessons.” 

“I think I would like to see these springs.” She said before she could catch herself. Seven, she was bold today. Robb looked at her a moment, studying. 

“Then I shall take you to them.” He said softly.


	2. Sparring

The blunt side of the sword hit her across the back, and Margaery fell into the mud, for the umpteenth time.

Dacey gave a sharp bark of laughter. 

Mayve sighed, a small smile playing on her lips, before reaching a hand down. Margaery accepted it and pulled herself up, feeling the ache of her body, the bruises on her skin. 

“You’re still missing the third step, I’m slipping right through your guard.” Mayve lightly admonished. She looked like she’d barely broken a sweat, save for the few curls haphazardly framing her cheeks. Margaery stabbed the tourney sword into the soft ground and wiped her face clean with a rag. 

“You wouldn’t have slipped through my guard if you hadn’t smacked me in the stomach.” She replied. “Not a very sporting move.” 

“We’re at war Marg, not a tourney!” Dacey laughed. The heir to Bear Island looked perfectly relaxed beneath the gruesome weirwood of Harrenhal, stroking the direwolf that laid on her lap. Margaery’s response was a huff.

Dacey was right about one thing, this war was nothing like a tourney. She had seen death and carnage as she’d never seen before sitting in the stands of Tourneys in the Reach. Loyal soldiers lying dead in the churned earth. Companions slaughtered at her feet, defenseless and unaware. Villages burned, innocents burned, children burned. 

The War of the Kings had torn the continent apart. 

And Margaery Tyrell would not let herself die defenseless.

When the army had reached Harrenhal, morale had never been lower. Their King was confined to his sick bed, many of their liege lords had been murdered, and the taste of betrayal was still fresh on many tongues. The Blackfish and Randyll Tarly had been able to keep the soldiers from lazing around the keep, having them run drills for the better part of the day, but there was an air of restlessness throughout the castle; when would justice be given. 

That is when Margaery approached Mayve.

Margaery did not know the older Stark twin as she did Sansa, who was a dear friend and confidante. Mayve was strong willed and trained often with Ser Laityn and Dacey. While she was no incredible warrior, she was determined. 

And in the shade of Harrenhal’s towering weirwood, she was a patient but firm teacher who taught Margaery the sword. But while Mayve’s words were gentle and kind, her blows were not. 

Margaery was tossed once more into the ground, her sword escaping her grasp and landing at Mayve’s feet. 

“I think that is enough for now.” She said. “You look more dirt than lady and more bruise than skin.” 

“No,” Margaery strained, the wind knocked clear out of her lungs. “I can continue.” 

“Perhaps. But you shouldn’t.” A new voice said, from somewhere beyond the clearing around the weirwood. A deeper voice. A voice Margaery hadn’t heard in weeks. Her heart skipped as she whirled around. 

Robb stood just inside the clearing, bandages visible beneath the neckline of his simple tunic, his hand on Greywind’s neck, no doubt to keep himself steady. 

Dacey shot to her feet, disturbing the direwolf, and bowed. “Your Grace, should you be up?” 

“Spare me Dacey.” He said. “I’ve enough people fretting over me. I do not need one of my guards to play mother hen.”

“Moonie you were supposed to be keeping watch for anyone.” Mayve said, shooting a halfhearted scowl to her direwolf, Moondancer, now finding a new spot to lounge. The pale grey beast gave a large yawn before resuming her nap. Greywind, with a look at his master, padded over to his sister and snuggled beside her in the sun. 

Margaery pushed herself up and shot a steely look at Robb. She was relieved to see his strength returning, but that did not mean she would allow him to tell her what to do. Who was he to tell her when she was finished? 

_ Your King for one,  _ she briefly thought. She caught Robb giving her a curious look as she turned back to Mayve, raising her sword.

“Margy, I really think you’ve done enough today.”

“I can continue.” She said again, steel filling her voice. 

“Prove it.” Robb said, stepping forward and taking Mayve’s tourney sword. Mirth filled his eyes and a small smirk graced his lips. 

_ I’ll knock that smirk right off.  _ Margaery thought, a touch cruelly, smiling herself. 

Their swords connected, and it wasn’t just the hit of steel on steel that reverberated through her body.

Moments, minutes, hours, years passed, she could not tell, there was only the ache of her muscles and her refusal to break their locked gaze. Mayve might’ve called her to stop, Dacey might’ve laughed, she did not know. 

Their swords locked at the hilt, their faces less than a handspan apart. Sweat drenched curls stuck to Robb’s forehead, and Margaery knew her own face was streaked with mud. There was a look in his eyes, dark and intense. 

“My lady, I stand corrected.” He breathed, a roughness to his voice that sent a shiver down her spine. 

“I am always happy to educate, your grace.” She practically purred, her chest aching; perhaps she pushed herself too far. Robb looked equally strained, still recovering from his injuries at the hands of the Freys.   
“Then I look forward to many more lessons.” He disengaged and bowed deeply, as if they truly were just two knights sparing, instead of, whatever it was that had transpired between them. She dipped into a low curtsy, eyes smiling through her lashes. 

He bid farewell to the three of them and whistled for Greywind, who reluctantly left the warmth of the sunny patch he was sprawled in, and the pair left the clearing. As soon as he was out of sight, Margaery collapsed, exhausted. Her companions’ laughs echoed through the trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo...sorry for totally not posting more during Robbaery week itself, I got swamped with summer school, working, and the musical I’m in.   
> Also, I’m dong the prompts out of order because 1) I can, and 2) I wanted to stay in the same AU, but in chronological order.  
> ALSO also, Mayve is my shameless self-insert Stark Kid and there is nothing you can do about it :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a much larger AU I have planned so if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask me in the comments, or on my tumblr page @Dab-bles


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